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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557165">Songs in the Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisende/pseuds/elisende'>elisende</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whisper My Name [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Baldur's Gate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Afterlife, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, POV Halsin, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Sexual Slavery, Slow Build, Spoilers, The Underdark (Forgotten Realms)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:47:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28557165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisende/pseuds/elisende</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Only the desperate would choose to descend to the Underdark.  But Halsin, Langoth, and his companions <em>are</em> desperate--and out of alternatives.  </p><p>For Halsin, the Underdark contains memories more dangerous than any monster.  Revenants of a dark past waiting to reclaim him from his lover's arms.</p><p>The danger is no less for Langoth and his comrades, who will confront their own nightmares in the depths beneath.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Halsin (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Whisper My Name [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well met!  Here's the thing: as I write this, we're at the end of BG 3 Early Access and can only make an informed guess about what comes next - so this is a kinda hybrid post-canon, eventually canon-divergent series.  </p><p>That being said, some of the upcoming plot points will be informed by datamined information about the Nightsong and Ketheric Thorm.  Proceed with caution if you want to remain unspoiled.  I'll add another A/N to the chapters with spoiler-y content, likely not until the latter part of the series.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>While though the tempest loudly roars,<br/>
I hear the truth, it liveth.<br/>
And though the darkness ‘round me close,<br/>
Songs in the night it giveth.</em><br/>
Traditional</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Halsin experienced a familiar dread as they descended from the ruined temple into the Underdark.  Born of the stale air, the way the bare rock hollowed the echoes of their footsteps and hushed words.  Memories rose like revenants, unbidden.  He steadied himself with a glance at his beloved.</p>
<p>The ranger was outwardly composed; only his eyes betrayed any disquiet.  </p>
<p>Astarion, ever sensitive to the undercurrents, said, “Has someone died?  Are we going to be grim and silent the whole way down?”</p>
<p>Wyll snorted.  “No, mate, we’ll be stopping in a bit to have another party.  We invited the tieflings back for another round, didn’t you hear?”</p>
<p>“Well, we all know Langoth isn’t much one for parties,” Astarion said, baring his fangs in a sort of hybrid of smile and snarl.  The vampire spawn was stubborn with his grudges, Halsin had noted.  Eager to cling to past slights.  He was certain there was reason for that beyond mere jealousy but the chances of getting close enough to him to learn those reasons were slim.</p>
<p>“Children, children,” Gale said, raising his hands in placation.  “Don’t argue, you’ll wake the duergar.”</p>
<p>“What no one tells you about adventuring is that it’s ninety percent boredom and ten percent raining entrails,” Astarion grumbled with a woeful sigh that said <em>you can’t even make a joke around here.</em></p>
<p>“Gale is right,” Halsin said.  “Things long dormant reside in the Underdark.  Best not to disturb them.”</p>
<p>Astarion’s eye roll was so dramatic it couldn’t be missed even in the gloom of the dank stair.  But he said no more and each was left alone with his own thoughts.  Halsin ran through his regrets like a long-remembered prayer, unable to escape their compelling call.  It was enough to make him wish Astarion would start prattling again.</p>
<p>The stair spilled onto ruins thick with desiccated corpses at least a century old.  Skulls riven by ax blades, chests bristling with black arrows.  The silence beyond was somehow watchful.</p>
<p>“What is this place?” Langoth’s soft voice seemed to be absorbed into the unending darkness around them.  Halsin suppressed a shudder.</p>
<p>“The dwarf said something of an ancient fort,” Halsin said.  “These are Selune’s faithful, if I had to guess.”  </p>
<p>Wyll held his torch aloft to inspect one of the skeletons, illuminating a silver emblem that bore the goddess’s mark.  “Think you might be onto something, Halsin.”</p>
<p>“So--sorry, are we talking now?” Astarion said with an ironic smile.  “Let’s just look around for anything useful and move on.  This place is… creepy, whatever it is.  And not in a good way.”</p>
<p>“For once, I find myself in agreement with the vampire spawn,” Gale said.  “There is some dark magic here.  Let’s get whatever we need and go forth.”</p>
<p>Langoth squinted into the distance, where a shaft of light beamed down from some unseen source.  “Very well.  A quick sweep.”</p>
<p>There was little to be found; a few decaying log books that confirmed their suspicions about the fort’s defenders, some rusty weapons and moldering provisions.  The center courtyard was warded by a magnificent statue of Selune holding aloft a magicked gem; they all stared at it, transfixed by its power.  “Strange,” Langoth said, his voice tight with apprehension.</p>
<p>They turned as one at the sound of quiet snorting outside the black iron gate.  Halsin’s blood chilled in his veins.  He had never seen a minotaur so close--few who did ever lived to tell of it.  </p>
<p>It stamped and brayed, enraged by their mere presence.</p>
<p>Langoth’s face went bloodless with terror.  He drew his sword and held it aloft as he started spitting out commands.  “Gale, above the gate.  Wyll, stand back on the rear stair--”</p>
<p>But his next orders were cut off as the minotaur charged the gate, throwing it down as though it were made of willow branches rather than wrought iron.  It howled again, knocking them back with the force of its assault.</p>
<p>What followed could only be described as carnage.  </p>
<p>Gale went down in the first attack, his chest partly caved in by the minotaur’s horn, darkening the front of his robes with blood.  Halsin ran to his side, whispering healing words to restore some life to the wizard’s broken body.  He held his breath as the spells did their work and Gale staggered to his feet with a moan.</p>
<p>He turned back to the fight to see Astarion sinking his dagger deep into the minotaur’s side; its bellow resounded in the dark like a thunderclap in the night.  Wyll blasted it with an infernal cantrip.  Halsin felt a ripple of hope, a lightness in his heart--perhaps they would survive this encounter.</p>
<p>Then a second minotaur came screaming from the darkness beyond the fort and his hope curdled into dread.  </p>
<p>The flagged floor was painted red with their blood within minutes.  Time lost meaning as Halsin ran from one man to the next, healing gashes and broken bones and bleeding organs and landing a blow on the minotaurs where he could.  But he might have been swinging his club at the stone pillars for all the good it did.  </p>
<p>Astarion’s scream shook the timbers of the ancient fort as he was caught between the two minotaurs, unable to escape.  They had succeeded in pinning him down.  Overwhelmed by battle rage and fear, Halsin felt the bear claim him.  </p>
<p>His fury was easier in this form: less complex, more satisfying to wield.  He loped over to the minotaurs, parting them with a vicious attack that finally drew blood.  The bear savored its taste, barely noticing that the vampire spawn took the opening to slip away.  One minotaur followed and the bear cornered the other, standing on his hind legs to roar before launching another furious onslaught against the monster.</p>
<p>The bear did not hear the exclamations behind him, the companions shouting his name, begging the druid’s aid.  It wasn’t the first time his rage had rendered him deaf and blind with tragic consequences.  He finally turned away from the corpse of the first minotaur to see Langoth lying face down in a pool of blood, his body broken beneath the triumphant howl of the second beast.</p>
<p>The shock was enough to call him back, gasping, to his druid form.  The monster leapt away to harry Gale again and Halsin staggered over to Langoth’s ruined body, senselessly shouting his name.  </p>
<p>But his lover was far beyond hearing: he was dead.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>When Langoth opened his eyes, he thought he’d awoken in one of the strange illithid dreams that had tormented him, where a being with the druid’s face tried to tempt him with empty promises.  It had the same peculiar light, the same airless quality.</p>
<p>But there was no dim facsimile of Halsin here.  There was nothing at all, other than colorless earth beneath his feet and the grey smudge of a horizon.</p>
<p>Where am I?  he asked aloud.  But there was no noise when he spoke.  Nor was there a smell to the soil, to the air.  Desperation rising, he tried to scream.  But once again, there was no sound.</p>
<p>As if in answer to Langoth’s silent cry, Halsin’s voice rang out, distant but clear.  He was calling Langoth’s name, despair inscribed in each syllable.</p>
<p>That was when Langoth realized he was dead.  He was in the Fugue Plane now, the waypoint between the mortal world and what lay beyond.  He fell to his knees.  </p>
<p>All was dust.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Halsin attempts a dangerous ritual to save his beloved from purgatory while in the Fugue Plane Langoth is confronted by an old enemy and a terrible choice.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Desires are the flowers of the living</em><br/>
They do not bloom in the realm of death.<br/>
Giovacchino Forzano, <em>Suor Angelica</em></p><p>In the grey silence of the Fugue Plane, all Langoth had was memory.</p><p>He remembered the terror of dying, the acrid stench of the minotaur as it snarled above his wrecked body.  The shattering force of the killing blow and the numbness that followed when his spine snapped, as though he had been submerged in glacial water.  Further back: the peculiar gem at the fort, the apprehension of their descent.  The tenderness of Halsin’s touch at dawn, the heat that the druid kindled in him.  The birdsong as their bodies joined.  Joy perhaps never to be experienced again.  </p><p>He swiped a tear from his cheek and lifted his eyes to the empty sky like a supplicant awaiting a sign from the gods.  Perhaps his love would speak again across the gulf of the planes.</p><p>
  <em>You won’t be getting any help from up there.</em>
</p><p>The voice, so familiar, was not on the air but resounded his head.  He spun around by instinct and saw him.  Derenth.  He was the same wild-haired, barefoot boy he’d been when Langoth had run away from the Cloakwood, decades ago.  <em>But that’s impossible</em>, he thought.  The boy had simply appeared from thin air.</p><p><em>When you are dead, coz,</em> the boy who was possibly Derenth said, <em>The impossible becomes probable</em>.  If it was not Derenth, it was a perfect double: he had the same impish grin, the one his aunt seemed to find adorable but which filled Langoth with instinctive dread.</p><p><em>My companions will revive me,</em> Langoth said.  Even in his own head his words sounded uncertain.</p><p><em>Unlikely.  You’ve been dead a while, or I wouldn’t’ve been summoned.  Time is different in this place.  That’s a lesson for free and here’s another: you need to go to the tower.</em>  Derenth pointed toward the horizon that had been empty only moments ago.  Langoth followed his cousin’s finger to the city that had appeared there.  </p><p><em>Know what it is?</em> Derenth said.  If there were air, he’d be breathless.</p><p><em>The City of the Dead,</em> Langoth answered in his mind.  He shut his eyes as though banishing it from sight would make it disappear.  His cousin’s laughter--that he remembered well--echoed in his head.</p><p><em>Can’t wish it away, coz,</em> Derenth said, <em>You’re dead.</em></p><p>*</p><p>Halsin’s fight was all the more fierce for his desperation.  But not fast enough.  </p><p>They felled the last minotaur inch by blood-drenched inch, grinding it down until one final slash of Wyll’s rapier ended it.  Before the beast hit the ground, Halsin was back at Langoth’s side.</p><p>It was too late: he was too long dead, lost to Kelemvor’s kingdom.  </p><p>Gale spoke first, pacing vigorously.  “We can fix this, I am <em>certain</em> we can fix this.  Let’s take him back to camp, get the talkative skeleton fellow to summon him back.  He can bring anyone back.”</p><p>“It would take half the day to ascend and reach the camp,” Halsin said.  “By then, he’d be far beyond the reach of any necromancer.”  He touched Langoth’s cheek, the only part of him that wasn’t spattered with blood.  It was already cold.  </p><p>How could fate be so cruel as to rend them apart so soon after they’d found one another?  To steal away a life that had only just begun?  He wished he could trade all his wasted centuries for the boy’s life.  He would do it with gladness in his heart.  He suddenly remembered.  An ancient ritual.  A bleak night, shadows on the wall.  A time he wished to forget--but perhaps that memory would be what saved Langoth.</p><p>“There is one rite,” Halsin said slowly.  He glanced at Gale; he’d need to be careful how much he revealed.  If they knew everything the rite entailed, they’d never agree to help him and he couldn’t do it alone.</p><p>Astarion limped over, his bloodred eyes fixed on the ranger’s body.  “If it will bring him back, then let’s try,” he said softly.  </p><p>“Agreed,” Wyll said.  “Let’s revive him however we can.  Except not, you know.  As an undead.  Then we’d just have to kill him again.”  Astarion shot him a venomous look.  “Too soon?”</p><p>“What is this rite, precisely?” Gale said, more circumspect.  He was wise indeed, Halsin thought, to be wary of meddling with the divine.</p><p>“You still have the wyvern poison that Nettie gave you?  Good.  I’ll drink to just beyond the point of death.  Long enough to find him in the Fugue Plane and bring him back with me.  You must revive me before my soul loses its connection to this plane.”  He did not add that if they delayed there was a good chance that both their souls would be forfeit.  Kelemvor did not take kindly to interlopers or those who would cheat him of his due.</p><p>“That is risky,” Gale said, considering.  Finally he sighed.  “But I don’t see that we have much other choice.”</p><p>Halsin wasted no time.  He found the wyvern poison in Langoth’s pack and decanted it, measuring just enough to stop his heart.  It was more than the average elf would require, but Nettie, in an abundance of caution, had given Langoth enough to take down a troll.</p><p>Wyll frowned as he watched him work.  “Master Halsin, are you certain you want to--?”</p><p>But he tipped back the fell poison before he could finish and began to mutter the invocation.  It was old magic, old as the bones of the immortal city itself; a dead tongue that felt as strange and evil in his throat as the wyvern poison.  The words built as he felt his lifeforce ebbing, his heart seizing and the feeling of ice water running through his veins as he said the final incantation and distantly, he heard Gale’s voice saying, <em>This was a mistake.... </em></p><p>His mouth grew numb and he spoke Langoth’s name three times before the darkness took him.</p><p>*</p><p>The city exuded a pull that was irresistible.  Langoth’s eyes kept wandering to it, even as his cousin peppered his mind with jeers and taunts.  </p><p>It looked very real, at least at this distance.  Towers and turrets and gates.  Streets where one could imagine people went about the quotidian business of living.  If one didn’t know better.  </p><p>Kelemvor sat at the central tower, meting out judgment on the dead.  Consigning them to their gods, to the hells, or to planes beyond.  He still couldn’t quite accept that he was one of their number.  Dead.  A soul without a body.</p><p><em>If I go,</em> he thought, glancing at Derenth, <em>Will you leave me be?</em></p><p><em>Finally, he gets it.</em>  Derenth threw his hands in the air. <em>That’s the whole point of me, coz.  To chivvy you the hells along.</em></p><p>And yet still he felt torn.  He looked up at the milky sky.  As though the chariots of the gods or perhaps the Absolute itself--whatever or whoever it was--would descend from it and free him from this purgatory.  </p><p><em>Eh, who the hells are you?  Get your own soul to torment, I’m busy with this one,</em> his cousin’s mind fairly squawked in indignation.</p><p>Langoth turned and though his body was only an illusory projection, he felt relief to his marrow.  He was here, looking as solid as an oak tree amongst the dust and ruin.  </p><p>Tears again pricked his eyes and he embraced the druid as though he were a piece of driftwood far out at sea.  <em>You came,</em> Langoth said, only now realizing that Halsin was the intervention he’d been waiting for.</p><p>“I told you I’d never leave you,” he said, with his voice.  The sound of it was the only music Langoth wished to hear for the rest of his days.  He pressed his forehead to the druid’s.  Even in this immortal plane, he could smell his smoky, cedar scent.  It made him want to weep with happiness.</p><p>Derenth narrowed his eyes. <em>How is it you can speak in Kelemvor’s kingdom, grandsire?  Are you some sort of necromancer? </em>
 </p><p>“I’m a druid sworn to Silvanus,” Halsin said.  “And I’ve come to claim Langoth back to the prime material plane.”  He had never looked so fierce, his eyes burning bright as a tiger’s as he glared down at Derenth.  “You will not stop me.  Kelemvor himself could not stop me.”  Langoth felt a chill of both fear and desire as the druid stared down his nemesis.</p><p>Derenth smiled as though pretending to be amused by some weak jest.  <em>You’ve made a grave error, druid.  The last you shall make on this plane or any other.</em></p><p>And then Derenth was no longer Derenth, his elven form stretching and warping, scales springing from his skin, teeth as long as greatswords shooting from his maw, until he towered above them, a gargantuan black dragon.</p><p>“A styx dragon,” Halsin said, spitting out an oath as they beheld the beast’s terrible roar.  Langoth fell to his knees at the sound that roiled through both his mind and ears.</p><p>When it was over, he rose and took his lover’s hand.  <em>Together,</em> he thought.  </p><p>Halsin nodded, a grim smile hitching the scar that curled under his lower lip.  “Always,” he said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Halsin and Langoth fight for their lives--and souls--on the fugue plane while in the Underdark Gale struggles to complete the ritual to bring them back to life.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had only to persevere long enough for revival.  To clasp hands at the precise moment the last words were spoken on the material plane.  </p>
<p>But in the shadow of the dragon’s enormous form, blasted by the heat that radiated from its black sides as though from a blazing furnace, that seemed nigh impossible.</p>
<p>“Behind me,” Halsin said to the ranger, grimacing against the dragon’s roar.  Instead, Langoth stood beside him, drawing his bow.  Although his longsword and dagger had not survived the fatal journey between planes, his ironwood bow was imbued with deep magic and a brother’s love and had traveled with the soul of its owner to this purgatory.  Seeing it in his hands gave him heart. </p>
<p>Langoth loosed an arrow at the ancient styx dragon’s neck; it merely plinked off its armored scales.  </p>
<p>The dragon seemed to chuckle, exhaling plumes of flame with its laughter.  <em>Your spirits will make a meager meal but there is rich entertainment in watching you struggle, at least,</em> said the dragon.  It raised one clawed foot, blotting out the grey sky and Halsin dove, a line of white hot fire screaming across the back of his leg where the dragon’s spur caught his flesh.  He yelled as its poison sank into muscle--his soul, in fact, for in this plane, body and soul were one.  </p>
<p>The pain was vivid.  Halsin opened himself to it, allowed it to sharpen his focus and turned back to the dragon.  There was no weakness he could perceive, no gap in the undulant ranks of its black scales.  But every dragon was tender around the muzzle and this one had foolishly lowered his, the better to watch him suffer.  Halsin screamed again for effect, clutching his leg and the dragon sank even lower, its face in striking range.  Marshaling all of his strength, Halsin drew the club from his back and threw it like a javelin into the dragon’s nose.  It struck true, showering him a waterfall of hot, black blood, like tar.  </p>
<p>The creature’s tortured shriek was terrible as it echoed across their minds.  Halsin staggered over to Langoth, both his wound and his head on fire. </p>
<p>“When the time comes--whatever else should happen,” Halsin said, “You must take my hand.” </p>
<p>Before Langoth could reply, the dragon was upon them again.  It was no longer toying with them: now it was out for blood.  Only luck saved Halsin from being cut in two as he dove away--this time the dragon’s claws sliced through empty air.</p>
<p><em>How much longer?</em> Langoth asked.  He wove and tumbled around the dragon’s legs, avoiding its swiping claws with limber grace that might be a dance but for the raging dragon above them.</p>
<p>The monster busy with Langoth, Halsin ignored the throbbing pain in his leg and closed his eyes for a moment to test the link he’d left to the plane where their bodies lay, lifeless.  </p>
<p><em>...was a mad idea, what if they don’t come back at all?</em>  Across the planes, Astarion’s voice was watery and hollow, as though he were speaking from the other end of a very long sea cave.</p>
<p><em>Master Halsin’s nearly past the point of no return, looks like,</em> Wyll said. <em>Hells, what’s that on his leg?</em></p>
<p>Gale’s voice echoed more forcefully in Halsin’s mind.  <em>Less commentary, if you please, this does require a bit of focus, you know--Halsin, is that you?  Is it time?</em></p>
<p><em>Almost,</em> he thought, <em>Be ready.</em>  He felt the wizard’s assent and turned back to the fray.  Langoth had sunk an ice arrow into the dragon’s nostril and it was trying to scratch it away, howling from its sting.</p>
<p>Halsin dashed over to the ranger, avoiding the sweep of the dragon’s tail as it staggered and bellowed in blind rage.  They would just have to hope the distraction lasted long enough to complete the ritual.  Langoth looked shaken but unhurt, his keen eyes watchful.  Even as the dragon roared above them, Halsin felt a surge of love, of humility in the face of its enormity: greater than any ancient guardian of the Fugue Plane, greater even than death.  “It’s time,” he said.  Their hands joined and he reached across the void again, to Gale.  </p>
<p><em>What if it’s too late?</em> Langoth said.  He sensed the ranger’s despair.</p>
<p>“Just don’t let go.  No matter what happens.”  </p>
<p>In answer, Langoth interlaced his fingers and squeezed them tight.  The druid shut his eyes and perceived, worlds away, Gale whispering the incantations that would bring their souls back.</p>
<p><em>Halsin,</em> Langoth’s voice rang in his mind, sharp with fear.</p>
<p>He opened his eyes to see the dragon bearing down on them, its mouth open, throat welling with blue fire.  </p>
<p>“Don’t let go,” Halsin said, even as every instinct screamed at him to break away, to dive to safety.  Langoth gripped his hand so hard he feared his bones would bruise.</p>
<p>The styx dragon bore down on them, a gout of flame shooting from its maw.  Halsin closed his eyes again.  The ritual was nearly complete--a few words away, if Gale did not stumble.</p>
<p><em>I need to tell you something,</em> Langoth said. <em>While there’s time.  I--</em></p>
<p>But before he could finish, darkness took them both.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>“...breathing, that has to be a good sign, surely?”</p>
<p>Dim, green light danced around him.  Langoth moaned and shut his eyes again.  Cold, he was so cold.  Everything from his waist up was agony: pain that throbbed, ached, stung, burned, and stabbed.  From the waist down, all was numb.</p>
<p>“Langoth,” Wyll said.  He heard the warlock approach but couldn’t bear to open his eyes again.  His voice sounded distant.  “Hells, he’s properly torn up.  Here, give us that potion.”    </p>
<p>A hand cradled his head, tipped it back, and another held a phial of healing potion to his bloodied lips.  It slid down his throat and he sighed as it took effect, restoring life to his stiff limbs.  A sickening crunch as his spine reknit itself and sensation rushed back to his legs.  He shivered.  It felt as though he’d never be warm again. </p>
<p>“Halsin,” he said, remembering.  The fugue plane, the dragon, the blue flames--he struggled to his hands and knees and collapsed with a groan.</p>
<p>“It’s alright, mate.  Halsin is just there, look.”  Wyll pointed to the other corner of the courtyard, where the druid was staggering to his feet, shaking his thick mane of hair and rubbing his face.  Langoth sank back down in relief.  They had made it, somehow.  </p>
<p>“I’m fine too,” Astarion said.  “If you were wondering.  I also nearly died, on your behalf.  Again.”</p>
<p>“Thank the gods,” Langoth rasped with a smile.  He shut his eyes and breathed deeply--real air, again.  Even though it was centuries stale and stank of fungus and dead minotaur, there was no sweeter smell.</p>
<p>“Actually, thank Gale,” the wizard said, approaching with Halsin by his side.  “It was a very near thing, indeed.  Suppose I owed you for all the times you’ve pulled me back from death’s door.”</p>
<p>The druid leaned over him and took Langoth’s icy hands between his own.  “Thank you,” Langoth whispered.  </p>
<p>Halsin laid a hand on his chest.  “Don’t speak.  You need food.  Your soul has been too long in Kelemvor’s kingdom and needs to be fully restored.”</p>
<p>“And nothing better for that than a nice warming mug of soup,” Gale said.  “I would know.  I shall see to it.”</p>
<p>An arm around Halsin’s waist, Langoth limped past the minotaur corpses laid out on blood slick flagstones to sit in the fort’s cozy refectory by the fire that Gale had set roaring with a cantrip.</p>
<p>“Rest here,” Halsin said, helping into a dusty leather chair which was surprisingly comfortable, considering its age.  “But don’t sleep yet.  Your soul’s connection to your body is still too tenuous.”</p>
<p>“Stay with me?” he asked.  Their eyes met and warmth spread through him; heat not just from the roaring fire.  Gale busied himself nearby with the cooking, humming tunefully as he banged pots and spoons and asking Astarion if he might use his dagger to mince the garlic.</p>
<p>Halsin eased down beside Langoth on a rickety bench, favoring one leg.</p>
<p>“The dragon?” It still hurt to speak.</p>
<p>Halsin nodded, wincing as he settled onto the bench.  “It will mend, in time.”</p>
<p>“Did I hear the word dragon?” Wyll said.  “I think that might be next on my list, having taken down a minotaur single handedly.”</p>
<p>Astarion shot him an acid look from across the room.  </p>
<p>“Well, almost single handedly.  Alright, you lot all helped.”</p>
<p>“Your magnanimity, Wyll, is as ever, inspirational,” Gale said, magicking a stream of hot water into the cookpot.  </p>
<p>Langoth laughed, and felt a little warmer still.  It was good, he reflected, to be alive.  The heady scent of garlic and onions sizzling over the fire reached his nose and his stomach growled.  </p>
<p>“Well, our foray into the Underdark is off to a wonderful start,” Astarion said from the shadows.  “I just can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps decapitation?”  He met Langoth’s eye.</p>
<p>“Stop sulking in the corner, Astarion,” Langoth said.  “We survived, didn’t we?”</p>
<p>The vampire spawn scoffed but he approached and even sat on the bench with Halsin.  At the opposite end, but it was a start.</p>
<p>“Mad idea, coming down here,” Astarion said, looking moodily into the fire.  He turned to Langoth and with unexpected emotion said, “We almost lost you.”</p>
<p>“Well, you didn’t,” Langoth said.  “And we will make it to Moonrise Towers.”</p>
<p>He did not fail to observe the expression of foreboding on Halsin’s weathered features.  He’d never seen the druid look so tired.  Again, he perceived there was something he was holding back, some unspoken burden he carried.  Langoth took his hand but he only patted it absently, staring into the dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After escaping the Fugue Plane, Halsin shares an ancient but effective method for binding the soul back to the body.  Langoth tries to reclaim his lover from the dark memories that imprison him... and to find the courage to express his true feelings for the druid.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Night and day were interchangeable in the Underdark; all the same, they assembled a makeshift camp in the ruined fort to get what rest they could before pushing on.  </p><p>The soup had almost fully revived Langoth.  He still felt a chill in his chest and fingers, remnants of the hour his body had lain dead, severed from his soul.  Gods, he might be standing before Kelmvor’s throne right now, receiving his judgment, if not for Halsin.  He looked over at the druid, who was himself watching the embers as the others settled in for their rest.</p><p>“You’ve been here before,” Langoth said.  It was not a question.</p><p>“It’s been nearly a century.  Yet it feels like no time has passed.”  Halsin’s gaze didn’t move from the dying fire as he spoke.  Langoth wished to know what thoughts swam through the dark waters of his mind, even as he feared the answer.  Halsin had told him some of his past with Ketheric and yet he sensed there was more--much more--to the story than what he’d shared.</p><p>“Perhaps we’ll find the answers we seek,” Langoth said.  “All of them.”</p><p>At that, Halsin turned to face him.  Pain and the dim glow of the fire had made his face into a mask.  “About the mindflayer tadpole, too, perhaps.  This affliction has a cure, I am certain.”</p><p>Langoth could only grimace.  “I’m beginning to think there is no cure but death.  True death.  Did you notice anything strange about--about when I died?”</p><p>Halsin didn’t meet his gaze.  “It wasn’t like with the drow.  The tadpole...”</p><p>“It never left me.  Even after its host died.  Why?”</p><p>The druid’s brow furrowed.  He looked even more troubled than before.  “A disturbing question with only disturbing answers.”</p><p>Langoth nodded, rubbing his cold hands together.  “It was the same before, when Gale fell.  Even as his body shed waves of necrotic energy, the tadpole didn’t abandon his corpse.  It <em>knew</em> we would revive him.”</p><p>Halsin took his hands, expression softening.  The heat of the coals had flushed his cheeks.  “Think no more of such things.  You’re alive--we’re both alive.  And we still need to fully reacquaint our souls with our bodies.”</p><p>Shaking off thoughts of the tadpole, Langoth smiled.  “You’re the healer.  What do you advise?”</p><p>“There is an old remedy,” he murmured, drawing close to Langoth to whisper in his ear, “But it requires some privacy.”</p><p>“Does it?” Langoth said.  He took Halsin’s warm face in his hands and kissed him on the mouth, gentle as a brush of summer wind.  “There was a storeroom--”  The druid cut him off with a kiss of his own, deeper and more insistent.</p><p>They slipped away from the warm refectory, Langoth avoiding Astarion’s knowing smirk.  They didn’t need to explain themselves, he told himself.  They had come back from the dead, for gods’ sakes.  In his head, his voice sounded suspiciously like his brother’s.  <em>Never apologize</em>; those might as well have been their family words, as far as Cadamir was concerned.</p><p>The storeroom was cool, close, and lightless.  Little more, in truth, than a closet.  Halsin opened his mouth to say something but Langoth held a finger to the druid’s lips.  He wanted to give him a show.  He unlaced his jerkin, slowly, the laces purring through their grommets.  When finally he slipped off his shirt the air was cold and for a sickening moment, he was back in the land of the dead, looking up at an empty grey sky.  </p><p>Halsin brought him back with a touch.  “You’re beautiful,” he sighed.  “So beautiful.”  Langoth allowed himself to be kissed, to drink in the druid’s warmth and to be kindled by his soft touch.</p><p>Then he pulled away again and resumed his striptease, sliding his sword belt off his hips, turning around and bending over to pull off his boots.  The druid put his hands on his hips then and pressed himself to Langoth’s backside.  He was already hard.  The contact sent a heady wave of desire surging through the ranger and he grabbed on to a stone shelf to keep his balance.</p><p>“Soft,” Langoth gasped, standing upright again.  It was as much a reminder to himself as an admonition to Halsin.  He perceived his lover’s smile in the dim.  And slowly, he continued, sliding his breeches low on hips, showing the top of his pelvis, the curves of his hip bones.  The druid’s warm fingers brushed his own away and tugged, ripping away the laces entirely and tearing the front of his breeches.  He pushed Langoth against the shelves and slid his hand beneath the breeches, taking hold of his cock.  The ranger sucked in his breath, losing his balance again and leaning against Halsin for support.</p><p>Halsin pressed his advantage, taking a handful of Langoth’s hair and yanking back his head to reveal his throat.  He moaned as the druid kissed him.  He could taste the sweetness of wine on his tongue before his hungry mouth trailed down Langoth’s neck.   Halsin pressed his body firmly to him, grinding his hips against his exposed pelvis.  Langoth began to slide his breeches down from his hips.  Heat pounded in his veins and for the first time since he’d begun breathing again, he felt fully alive.  Halsin pressed against him all the more insistently, his grinding rhythmic.</p><p>And then he stopped.  The sound of their breathing filled the dark cavity, Halsin’s ragged as a wounded animal’s, his weight still pressed against the ranger’s semi-nude body.  Langoth touched his arm, thinking it was perhaps the ugly gash on the druid’s leg.    </p><p>“I thought that I had lost you,” Halsin said, his voice no more than a broken whisper.  His face was bowed in shadow; he covered it with one hand.  “I don’t know what I would do, if I truly lost you.”</p><p>“I’m here,” Langoth said.  He took Halsin’s face in his own hands and looked up at him.  His eyes were still shadowed.  “Nothing could part us.  Not even death.”</p><p>Halsin exhaled a long, low sigh.  “I have lived much longer than you,” he finally said.</p><p>“If we have just this moment then let us make the most of it,” Langoth said, drawing him down for another kiss.  Something seemed to waken within the druid and he returned it forcefully, with a passion possessive and fierce.  Breathless, Langoth could only steady himself against the lichen crusted shelves as Halsin ground his body against him once more, hand finding the torn front of his breeches and jerking them down to reveal Langoth’s hardness.  He winced as the druid ungently stroked him and then pushed him to bend him over an old crate, tugging his torn breeches down to his knees.  Langoth’s breath hitched when Halsin’s fingers found his ass, then quickened with anticipation as he heard the older elf spit onto his hand, untie his cloth belt and then brace himself behind him, one hand wound in Langoth’s hair.</p><p>Halsin’s first thrust was brutal and Langoth couldn’t hold back a cry.  The druid made no concessions for his size but plowed deeply into him, as though trying to reach Langoth’s center.  Another broken cry escaped Langoth’s lips, a shuddering gasp.  It had never been like this before.  But Halsin did not forbear; if anything his hips pounded deeper and faster.  Just as Langoth was on the edge of telling him to stop, pleasure overtook pain and he lost himself in the sensation of Halsin’s deep, sustained thrusts.  </p><p>With his other hand, the druid reached around to grip Langoth’s cock, stroking it gently now, his fingers sliding delicately down the shaft even as he pumped relentlessly from behind.  The counterpoint of the sensations made Langoth lightheaded, his senses overwhelmed.  He sank onto the crate, feeling the rasp of the wood against his cheek as Halsin continued caressing his shaft.  The druid pushed his legs further apart to take him even deeper and his grasp firmed around Langoth’s cock.  A shudder overtook him as Halsin groaned into his ear.  Gods, he was close.  A whimper escaped his lips and the druid’s hips slowed so that Langoth could feel every inch of him, filling him.  </p><p>The ecstasy overtook Langoth and he came with a sigh, taut muscle softening as he melted over the crate.  Halsin sighed with him, in appreciation; the druid brushed the hair from his cheek to better see his face as he continued to pump, deeper and deeper.  </p><p>The druid cried out, bending over Langoth’s back; he could feel the weight of his muscled body, the heat of his jagged breath in his ear as the rhythm of hips became chaotic, frenzied.  His force had lifted Langoth nearly off of his feet and he struggled to keep his balance on the top of the crate.  Halsin gasped Langoth’s name and it was like a supplication to the divine.  Langoth shivered in renewed pleasure as Halsin came inside him with a tremor that he felt to his core.</p><p>For a few breaths, they stayed there in silence, Halsin still resting on Langoth’s outstretched body.  Then, finally, he rose, pulling out and Langoth felt the sharp chill of the room on his naked back.  He quivered and turned back to Halsin, perhaps for some comfort.  But the druid was far, far away from him.  </p><p> “Come back to me,” he whispered.  He cradled Halsin’s scarred face in his hands.</p><p>The druid at last regarded him, a faint smile on his lips.  “I want to believe we’ll survive this,” he said.</p><p>“Then believe it,” Langoth said.  “We will.  We are.”</p><p>Halsin nodded but his face told another tale.  “You were going to say something.  In the fugue plane.”</p><p>Now it was Langoth’s turn to look away.  He collected his discarded armor from the floor, hiding his expression.  He’d wanted Halsin to know before they died--yet now he wasn’t so certain he could say it.  Why did facing an ancient eldritch dragon of the hells feel less terrifying than speaking the truth of his heart? </p><p> He compromised and looked at the crumbling stone flagging. “I wanted you to know.  How I felt about you.  Feel about you.”  He felt the weight of Halsin’s stare but couldn’t bear to look up as he whispered,  “I love you.”</p><p>And then he was enveloped in the bonfire warmth of the druid’s embrace, his heady scent of cedar and mulberry wine and autumn sunlight in his nose, the velvet strength of his muscled arms around him.  And he wept.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Halsin's past finally catches up with him when the party stumbles across a ruined settlement on the Ebon Lake.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>He dwelt in himself</em><br/>
<em>like a rook in an unroofed tower</em><br/>
-Seamus Heaney</p><p> </p><p>Most of all, he missed the sun’s warmth.  There was no substitute for it, or for the sweet plainsong of the birds, the wind’s touch.  The air below was stale, redolent of fungal colonies and rotting bodies.  Nature had found its way even here but not without its own struggle against the void, the unending dark.</p><p>It changed you.  Halsin knew that, thought he’d accepted it, even moved past it.  Still, he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it to Langoth, despite all they’d endured.</p><p>It had been days since they’d arrived in the Underdark; after their return from the fugue plane they’d managed to survive hook horrors, duergar, and an encounter with a bulette.  </p><p>“Everything down here wants to kill us,” Astarion grumbled.  “It’s all getting rather repetitive.”</p><p>“So not much of a change from the surface!  Although, I’ll allow--somewhat less cheerful.  At least the goblins had a sense of humor.  A terrible sense of humor but it’s more than one can say for duergar.”  Gale was in remarkably good spirits despite the near-disemboweling he’d suffered that morning in their fight against the hook horrors. The party wore the mantle of cheerfulness in turns, lifting each other up when it was needed, sharing the warmth of one another’s souls like prisoners sharing meagre scraps of bread.  </p><p>“Have you ever heard a goblin joke, mate?  Not funny.” Wyll said.  He was walking point beside Halsin, his eye scanning the darkness ahead for threats as he spoke.  </p><p>“But at least they <em>make</em>--”</p><p>“For instance.  Why did the kobold cross the road?”  </p><p>Gale sighed, nearly extinguishing the flame that danced on the tip of his staff.  “I can’t even begin to guess.  Enlighten us, Wyll.”</p><p>“He didn’t.  A goblin hit him over the head and roasted him alive on a spit while his family watched.”  </p><p>Langoth wrinkled his nose.  Halsin was certain he’d heard a version of this ‘joke’ with a gnome in the place of the kobold.  Goblins were known for their originality even less than their sense of humor.</p><p>Gale was silent for a long while.  “Alright, I take your point.  In some cases, no sense of humor <em>is</em> better.”</p><p>“What is that?” Langoth said, pushing ahead of Wyll and Halsin to look over the edge of a deep precipice.  Halsin crouched beside him, squinting into the gloom.  It was the Ebon Lake; he remembered it well.  </p><p>“Moonrise Towers is on the other side of the lake,” he said in a low voice.  The Underdark and its deadly monsters forced the habit of whispering onto you.</p><p>“How do we get there?” Langoth asked.  </p><p>Halsin pointed to the outline of a jetty.  “Perhaps fortune will be on our side, for once.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t that be refreshing,” Astarion muttered.</p><p>Langoth smiled faintly.  “Let’s go, then.”  </p><p>“Wait,” Halsin said.  He’d caught sight of a ruined settlement along the edge of the shore.  It had been a prosperous mine, when last he was here.  Gnomish; they had aided him--meanly, it had to be said--but they’d aided him, nonetheless.  A wave of nausea accompanied the memory of his escape.  The burning chains, the dark, the despair.  He shut his eyes a moment.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Langoth said, taking his arm in his steady, strong hand.</p><p>Halsin opened his eyes, the memory already fading.  “I’m fine,” he said.  “Look, there was once a settlement of some kind here.  We should be cautious.”</p><p>They picked along the edges of the settlement but the gnomes who might have recognized him were gone--dead, or enslaved.  </p><p>“Let’s not linger,” Halsin said.  He could feel Astarion’s gaze but didn’t engage him.  He didn’t want to confirm any of the vampire spawn’s suspicions.  </p><p>Langoth pointed ahead to the jetty.  “It’s a vessel of some kind.”</p><p>“Keep to cover,” he said.  “We can’t yet guess if they’re friend or foe.”</p><p>They listened to him, thank the gods, hugging the low, ramshackle buildings around the jetty to get a closer look.  A clammy sweat had broken out on his palms and forehead as memories threatened to overwhelm him again.  He shouldn’t have come back.  </p><p>“Are those drow?” Astarion said, his voice barely a whisper.  </p><p>They were hunters and wore the weeping red eye of House Canavar; at the sight of that evil sigil, Halsin froze.  Langoth’s voice seemed very distant as he said, “Do you think they’re hostile?”</p><p>“We should turn back,” Halsin said, his throat nearly closing around the words.  “I know that mark.”</p><p>Astarion raised an eyebrow, watching him closely, even avidly as he asked, “How, exactly?  I can’t imagine they venture to the surface often.” </p><p>“It does not matter how,” he growled.  “They are no friends to us, believe me.”</p><p>“Certainly don’t look friendly,” Wyll said.  The hunters paced the pitched planks of the skiff.  Slavers, looking for prey.  Like them.</p><p>Langoth’s piercing gaze was nearly unbearable.  Finally, he said, “Very well.  We’ll follow the shore west and look for another way.”</p><p>Halsin released the breath he’d been holding.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  Langoth touched his gauntlet, a question in his eyes.  Later, he would tell him everything.  After they were out of this godsforsaken place.</p><p>They retraced their steps, one by one, Halsin at the rear.  Just as he was nearly around the corner of the last building, a piece of broken glass crunched under his foot.  He paused midstride.  The drow slavers stopped too, listening.  </p><p>He didn’t dare to breathe; his position was exposed, they had only to descend onto the jetty to see him.  His heart pounded as the smaller hunter strode down the edge of the skiff.  </p><p>The slaver leapt onto the jetty with a thud that shook the timbers and Halsin dove back behind the building.</p><p>“Ehi!  Stop!”</p><p>Too slow.  The hunter drew his bow as Halsin scrambled to his feet, reaching for his club in the same motion.  </p><p>Langoth appeared at his side, bow already nocked.  “Don’t move,” he commanded the hunter, his voice unwavering as his arrow.</p><p>Astarion, Gale, and Wyll emerged from the shadows behind them, weapons drawn.  He could weep with gratitude.  He wasn’t alone, this time.  Halsin drew his club.</p><p>“Golzar,” the hunter shouted to his partner.  He simultaneously lowered his bow.  The other drow jumped down from the skiff, his hands raised.</p><p>“We wish no quarrel with you,” the larger hunter, this Golzar, said.  His skin was the violent purple of a gentian’s flower and seemed to glow in the gloom.  “And you wish no quarrel with our master.”</p><p>“And who is your mistress?” Langoth said, his arrow still aimed at the hunter’s heart.</p><p>Golzar bared his teeth; they were filed to points and his wide smile was like a gleaming white saw.  “Perhaps you misheard me, boy.  I serve a lord.  His name is Valas and his house is the most illustrious House Canavar.  And he shall make bread from the dust of your bones.”</p><p>“Typical,” Astarion muttered, though despite his bravado the vampire spawn blanched.</p><p>“He will do nothing of the kind,” Langoth said.  His fingers tightened on the bowstring.  “We’re not easy prey, as you may have gathered.”</p><p>“Aren’t you?”  </p><p>A company of drow appeared from the shadows, weapons drawn, all wearing the same sigil.  Canavar.  His blood chilled, even as Langoth muttered an oath under his breath.  They were outnumbered, badly.</p><p>“I recognize this one,” said a huntress who had emerged from behind the burnt husk of a mill.  She walked over to Halsin, her daggers trained on him.  "I recognize him very well."  Her face was puckered by a terrible silver scar that traversed the length of her face, chin to brow, hitching up her lips in an ugly sneer.  He would not soon forget her face, though he’d never learned her name.  “The master will be pleased to see you,” she said, leaning so close that Halsin could smell the spiced meat on her breath.  He shuddered.</p><p>“Begone,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.  “We’ll have no dealings with your master.”</p><p>“Oh, but I think you will,” the huntress said.  She strolled over to stand beside Golzar, wrapping him in a casual embrace and whispering into his ear.</p><p>Langoth glanced at him again, questioning.  Halsin couldn’t hold his gaze.  He had to protect him from this--from his own past, which seemed determined to force itself into the present.  </p><p>“You will come with us,” Golzar said.  “As our esteemed guests.”</p><p>Astarion snorted.  “One’s hair curls to imagine what drow hospitality entails.”</p><p>“Take me,” Halsin said, stepping forward and throwing his club to the ground in front of him.  It landed with a hollow clatter that rose a small cloud of grey dust at his feet.  “I’m the one your master wants.”</p><p>The drow called Golzar smiled as though he were indulging a naughty child.  “Oh, no, Master Druid.  That would be most unbecoming.  Lord Valas will want to host all of your companions.”</p><p>Finally, he met Langoth’s eye.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, though Langoth still couldn’t know for what.  He would learn all too soon.</p><p>Langoth took his hand.  “We’ll face this together, too.”  </p><p>Halsin shut his eyes.  “There’s so much I wish I had--”</p><p>“Onto the skiff, now, grandfather.  You’ll want to arrive in time for dinner--you must remember the generosity of Lord Valas’s table well.”</p><p>The other companions looked at him but he remained silent.  Fury was building in him, born from an old hatred and wounds he’d wanted to believe had been healed over, like bark over the exposed pith of a tree.  But something foul had flourished there, waiting.</p><p>The scarred drow watched him and smiled.  When they passed to board the skiff, she stopped him and gripped his arm.  Once more, she leaned close.  “It’s good to have you back, Master Halsin.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The companions meet Lord Valas of Canavar, a drow with a thirst for violence that goes far beyond the usual Lolth devotee's depravity.  He puts a terrible proposition to them and Langoth finally learns the truth about Halsin's past.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fortress crouched on the far shore like a beast of prey poised to attack.  It was beautiful, in a deadly, bone-chilling way, with high, jagged sides carved of blackest obsidian.  The drow were great admirers both of beauty and of breathtaking cruelty.  All in the name of Lolth, the bloodstained goddess.</p><p>Halsin was not well.  He’d said nothing since their capture; had barely looked at Langoth when he’d sat beside him.  Now he perched alone on the side of the skiff, looking ahead to the bleak fortress.</p><p>“This will be a fascinating tale to recount, one day,” Gale whispered.  They were gathered in a tight knot, surrounded on all sides by drow hunters.  “If we survive.”  He was shivering; the sussur blooms that Golzar and his lieutenant carried seemed to expose Gale to the cold even as it blocked his magic.</p><p>Wyll glanced up at Langoth, a question in his eyes.  <em>How are we going to get out of this one?</em>  Langoth shook his head.  He didn’t know--they were fate’s captives, as well as the drow’s.  </p><p>Golzar anchored the skiff in the shallows and lowered a plank into the lake.  When they waded to the shore the water was frigid and strangely viscous, eddying around his knees where he disturbed it.</p><p>“Just try to escape,” said the female drow who had seemed to know Halsin.  She attempted to push him into the water but she might well have tried to push an oak tree from its roots.  The druid fixed her with a look of such venom as he’d never seen on his gentle, worn features, not even toward Kagha.   </p><p>The beach was grey sand but unlike the shore from which they’d come, it shimmered in the gloom.  He disturbed it with his foot, sending up a sparkling cloud.  </p><p>“You wouldn’t know the story,” Golzar said.  “Of the blood moon?”</p><p>“I don’t believe I wish to,” Langoth replied.  He raised his eyes to the fortress: massive, seen close.  It seemed to emanate a chill.  A tortured scream--a woman’s, he thought--rang inside.  None of the drow seemed to find it remarkable.</p><p>“The Blood Moon was the herald of a great victory,” Golzar persisted.  “Of my master over the former lady of House Canavar.”</p><p>“I don’t--”</p><p>“The mistress, Damiana, her name was, was a cruel mistress.  And that was good.  Yet she lacked ambition.”</p><p>“<em>Perish</em>,” Astarion mumbled.</p><p>Golzar cuffed him without breaking stride.  “And that was not good.  Our house became lesser, month by month our influence waned.  Until the Blood Moon came.”</p><p>Halsin’s interest was piqued; finally, he had lifted his eyes to listen to Golzar’s tale.</p><p>“The Blood Moon.  She seemed no more than a weak, sad, selfish person--a human, in short.  But she was much, much more.  She poured words into my master’s ear.  They bred and bore black fruit in his mind.  Master slew mistress one evening as she feasted at banquet, yes.  He carved a notch deep in her cheek, and another below--” Golzar plucked the side of Langoth’s neck, “--right over the vein.  The high table was rinsed with her blood.  And the Blood Moon, gone.” </p><p>“She disappeared?” Halsin said.  </p><p>Golzar grinned, showing his pointed teeth.  “Vanished.  From a locked room, aye.  For Master Valas was cunning and kept the hall locked away from mistress’s soldiers.”</p><p>Halsin frowned and looked away again.  Langoth could see him working something out.</p><p>“Much as we appreciate your master’s, er, hospitality, Golzar,” Gale said, grimacing, “I wonder if there’s any way we might convince you to let us on our way.  We’re useless as slaves, you know.  Idle dilettantes, the lot of us.”</p><p>The drow hunter leered.  “I’m certain the master will find a use for you.”</p><p>The courtyard was silent.  A grove of trained sussur trees grew on one side, shrouding the courtyard in a quiet gloom.  At the courtyard’s center was a stone fountain whose waters were still and black as the Ebon Lake’s.  A figure of a beautiful drow woman crowned the top: was this the unfortunate Damiana?  </p><p>Behind them, the iron gate clanged shut.</p><p>“Piss and hellfire,” Wyll said.  He looked restlessly around the courtyard.  “I don’t like the sound of being locked in here.”</p><p>“Nor I,” said Astarion, baring his teeth. His hand dropped to his hip where his dagger normally hung, but of course, it had been taken, along with the rest of their weapons.  </p><p>“Let us hope that we avoid the same fate as the Lady of Canavar,” Gale said in a low voice.  </p><p>“There are far worse fates than that,” Halsin said.  He didn’t meet Langoth’s questioning gaze.</p><p>The drow washed their hands and faces with the evil looking water in the fountain as Golzar and his woman disappeared into the fortress’s belly.  </p><p>Langoth sidled up to Halsin, murmuring into his ear.  “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”</p><p>The druid nodded, his expression distant.  “Another life.”</p><p>“Tell me,” he insisted.  “What can we expect here?”</p><p>“Later--I swear, I will tell you everything.”</p><p>It would have to be good enough.  Langoth sighed and dropped his hand from Halsin’s shoulder.  He knew he should be patient, as patient as the druid had been with him.  The truth was that Halsin’s disquiet was more alarming than anything else in this bleak place.</p><p>In the silence of the courtyard, they could hear a door open within the fortress and the ripple of commotion that followed it.  </p><p>“Here they come,” Gale murmured.  “Gods.  I would rather be the prisoner of anyone but the drow.”</p><p>“Be careful what you wish for,” Astarion said.  His eyes were unfocused and Langoth could tell he was speaking of Cazador.  As cruel as any drow, if Astarion’s stories were true.   </p><p>A drow lord appeared at the top of the stair, his smile almost waxen in its fixity.  He was beautiful, with long silver hair and lilac skin, and tall, for a drow, nearly the height of a tall human.  Still, he was fine-boned and delicate of feature.  His heavy-lidded eyes were bloodred.</p><p>“I am Lord Valas of Canavar,” he said, as he descended.  His voice, clear as a temple bell, rang through the uncanny silence of the courtyard.  “Some among your number already know me well.”</p><p>He stopped before them and reached out to touch Halsin’s scarred cheek but Langoth stepped in front of his outstretched arm and pushed it away.  “Release us.  At once.”</p><p>“I think you misunderstand,” Valas said, the smile still frozen on his lips.  Langoth marveled again at how handsome he was, even as he resembled more a carved statue than an elf.  “You are my guests.  You’re under no duress.  And I am told you are on some manner of quest, no?  You seek Moonrise Towers--I hope you will entertain my offer of assistance.”</p><p>Without waiting for Langoth’s reply, the drow lord turned and motioned to Golzar.  “See my guests are shown to the feasting hall with all due courtesy.  And we can discuss what awaits at Moonrise Towers over dinner.”</p><p>As quickly as he had appeared, the lord of Canavar turned and strode back up the stairs into the fortress, his lackeys scuttling after him.  Only Golzar remained, his sharp teeth revealed in a grim smile.</p><p>“That was certainly the creepiest dinner invitation I’ve received,” Astarion said.</p><p>“One can assume a creepy dinner party is to follow,” said Gale.  “But it seems we have little choice.”</p><p>“Make no mistake,” Halsin whispered to Langoth.  “We are prisoners here, even if the shackles are kept out of sight.”  </p><p>“What is this place?”  He turned Halsin’s face to his and finally, the druid met his eyes.  They were dark with memory, with fear.  But still, he did not speak.</p><p>The drow began corralling them up the stair, into the belly of the fortress.  </p><p>The further they penetrated the compound the deeper the chill.  It was as though the black stone drank heat as well as light, drawing it from their very skin.  Langoth tried to remember the turns of the corridors, as vast and chaotic as a rabbit’s warren, but he quickly lost count.  </p><p>Though it was vast, the feasting hall was somehow airless.  Flames licked from torches on the walls, illuminating carved obsidian figures of monstrous beasts of the Underdark.  The tables were empty, save for the high table on a dais at the end of the hall, which was set with a rich feast, laid upon elegant silver dishes.  Despite everything, Langoth’s stomach groaned at the sight of it, for it had been a day since they’d last eaten and a week since they’d had anything other than venison jerky.</p><p>Lord Valas was nowhere to be seen.  They sat at the high table and Golzar left them with an ironic bow, not bothering to hide his delight at their discomfort.  </p><p>They sat before the grand meal and waited, the silence thick as dust in a forgotten tomb.  </p><p>Wyll poked at the stuffed pheasant with his fork.  “What do you reckon, just a little nibble?  I’m starving.”</p><p>“I’m not eating a single dish until I see this Lord Valas do the same,” Gale said.  He turned to Langoth.  “It is exceedingly rare for a drow male to take control of a house.”</p><p>“Valas is an exceedingly rare individual,” Halsin said.  “I believe he’s not simply cruel but quite insane.”</p><p>The door of the hall slammed open.  Valas strode through, wearing a new cloak of rich brocade.  On his head was a silver circlet of the same luster as his hair.</p><p>The companions did not rise.</p><p>“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Valas said, though of course, he knew they had.  “I can’t imagine the Underdark has afforded you much in the way of dining.”</p><p>“Your table is rich, lord,” Langoth said.  His eye wandered once again over the roasted fish and fowl, innumerable pies, plates of cheese and cured meats, the suckling pig, a great roasting joint of an indeterminate animal.  No carving knives, he noted.</p><p>“Which is as good as saying, I am rich.  I do not deny it.  Lolth has favored House Canavar since I claimed it as my birthright.”</p><p>Lord Valas leaped up onto the dais with feline grace and took his place at the head of the table.  </p><p>“Some of the claret?  No?  You won’t find its like on the surface, that I would swear to.”  Valas filled his goblet and drank it lustily, even noisily.  “So straight to business, is it?  You are grim, for a wood elf.”</p><p>“You’re holding us prisoner.”</p><p>“Come, we’ve been through this.  You’re my guests.  For now.”</p><p>Langoth looked into Valas’s eyes and saw the truth in what Halsin had said.  There was something deeply wrong with him, beneath his easy charm.  No warmth was behind his eyes, only calculation and the lifeless glitter of malice.</p><p>“I will put a very simple proposition to you, and to your ah, companions.”  He toasted the others with his goblet.  “I shall send a few of my hunters with you--they’ll ensure you reach Moonrise Towers and return you safely to the surface once you’ve completed... whatever errand it is that you’re on.  I’ll even supply your expedition.  You cannot fail to achieve your aim, with House Canavar’s backing.”</p><p>He felt the weight of his companions’ gaze on him as he said, “And in return?”</p><p>“I ask only for what is already mine by right,” Valas said.  A slow, sadistic smile spread across his face.  “The druid is my property.  He escaped my service some decades ago.  Return him to me and you shall walk free, with a company of drow at your command.  If you do not….”</p><p>He didn’t need to ask if it was true.  The shadow in Halsin’s eyes told him everything.  </p><p>“No,” Langoth said, without hesitation.  He fought the urge to break from Valas’s predatory gaze.  The drow’s eyes were sparkling with amusement.  What a diverting game they were, to him.  Langoth’s fist tightened on the table and he leaned forward to say, “Never, not even for our lives.”</p><p>“Well, funny you should mention that.  If you do not, as lord of this domain, I claim you as rightful plunder.”  Valas leaned forward to look directly into Langoth’s eyes, so close that he could see the ropey patterns in his red irises.  “That means, you would <em>all</em> be my slaves.”</p><p>“Ahem.  Perhaps we should consider this further,” Astarion whispered.  “Think about it--”</p><p>“There is nothing to consider.  We will not respond to threats.  Or negotiate with outright villains.”  </p><p>Valas sat back in his plush chair as though he were watching a theatrical.  </p><p>“Hate to say it--I really, really do--but Astarion <em>does</em> have a point,” Gale said.  </p><p>“How does it help if we’re all locked away here?” Astarion said through gritted teeth.  “I’ve been under the heel of Cazador for centuries, you’re a fool if you think I’d trade him for another monster.”</p><p>“And you’re a fool if you think there’s any way he’s going to let us walk through those gates willingly,” Langoth hissed.  “We will not abandon him.”  He turned to Halsin but the druid had hung his head.</p><p>“I volunteer,” Halsin said.</p><p>Langoth’s heart seized.  “What?”</p><p>“Don’t do this, Halsin,” Wyll pleaded.  “There’s got to be another way.”</p><p>Valas clapped his hands together once, his face joyous.  Langoth longed for his bow and dagger, envisioning slashing the drow’s throat in the same manner as he was said to have executed his sister at this very table.</p><p>“There is no other way.”  Halsin looked at him.  “You must accept my decision.”</p><p>“No,” Langoth said, his eyes prickling with hot tears.  “I won’t.”</p><p>“Touching,” Valas said with a sigh.  “Truly, it’s been an evening of fine entertainment.  I do think I am going to enjoy our time together, even if it’s not very long.”  He motioned to the guard at the door, who called in several others with shackles already prepared.</p><p>“I knew it,” Langoth said, spitting on Valas’s plate.  “Bastard.”</p><p>He lunged for the drow lord, to kill him with his bare hands, if he could, but the biggest guard grabbed him by the throat and slammed him down on the table, pressing his face into the hewn stone, his weight on Langoth’s back.  </p><p>Memory flooded his senses and he was back in the mud, a knife to his throat.  He began to panic, to try to shove his assailant off, but the guard was implacable and another soon joined him to subdue Langoth until he was limp, panting like a caged animal, tears of unspent rage streaming down his face.  He screamed, a wordless, futile scream.</p><p>Valas tilted his head to look quizzically down at him.  “I rather like seeing you from this angle,” he said, wiping Langoth’s tears with a thumb as cold as winter’s grasp.  “I think we’ll enjoy becoming acquainted.”</p>
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